


Thorn and Blossom

by LuciferxDamien



Category: Berserk (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Knot, Extremely Dubious Consent, Knotting, M/M, Past Torture, Possessive Behavior, Self-cest, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 18:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19469539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuciferxDamien/pseuds/LuciferxDamien
Summary: Humanity is a thorn, always desiring things they ought not, and Griffith's human heart, buried deep within Femto, still blossomed for Guts.





	Thorn and Blossom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiriamKenneath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/gifts).



> This piece took on a life of its own and grew into something I didn’t quite expect. xD I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Somewhat graphic descriptions of the aftermath of Griffith’s torture. Past Guts/Griffith explicitly shown.

A glimmer of light, the last remaining ray, emanating from deep within Femto. A flame that could not be extinguished, despite how close it was to flickering out of existence. A blossom that could bloom in the darkness. 

_“Griffith…”_ Femto called and coaxed. 

Femto felt its warmth, he was blinded by its light, and yet, it was nearly as though it did not exist. A thorn in Femto’s side, but one he could not remove. A thorn that grew and pulsed and _desired_ the things outside of its grasp. 

Searching for the force, that light, was difficult, clever as it slipped away. Femto often grew frustrated and gave up his search, but not this time. No. That flame, that bloom had become obstinate and Femto could not tolerate it doing as it pleased. 

_“Sweet Griffith…”_ Femto whispered. 

There… Hidden away, in the darkness of it all, Griffith still existed. Tucked away, that last blossom, that last bloom that had yet to wither away, and yet… 

And yet, if that last shred were to disappear, what then, would Femto be? 

A shell. No ambition, no dreams, and yet… 

That one last remaining bloom was as if a thorn, puncturing deep, that last, tiny shred of humanity, buried under so many layers that functioning in his necessary capacity was no issue, but _oh_. Then **he** , that damned swordsman would appear, and the bloom would grow and grow and grow and… 

Femto reached down, deep inside to a place where it was only he and himself. A deep, dark place, where he could prune and cultivate that contemptuous bloom. 

_“Griffith…”_ he whispered again sweetly, so sweetly, until that mangled, ragged body uncurled. He would never heal, not here, not as he was. He was frozen in that form. A skinny, spindly little thing, but oh, how his heart still beat strong, bloomed for _that_ man. That damnable human. Struggling as he did, always struggling his way through a fight, swinging that sword wildly. More rage than skill, these days. 

But Guts was always _such_ a brute, and Griffith yearned for that. 

Strong hands, scarred and rough and callused, but that was not Femto. No, though his hands were strong, he had smooth palms and no scars, only claws that grasped Griffith’s frail hips easily. 

“Uhh…” Griffith grasped and groaned. So small and thin, nothing like the strong, youthful body that had worked all those years for this goal… Rasping breath, that scarred chest heaving and Femto smiled, brushing a hand down Griffith’s bare face. There was no need for the helmet, not here. 

_“Sweet Griffith…”_ Femto leaned down, brushing away silvery strands from his face. 

There were memories, then, of that strong, scarred swordsman, with the cut across his nose. 

_Scarred hands taking Griffith’s hips in his grip, moaning late into the night, a tent out in the camps… The sounds of flesh against flesh, muffled cries and gasps as their crowded spaces filled with the smell of sex._

Femto smiled. Guts would always keep this thorn of his past self alive. 

And Femto needed that. 

Griffith pulsed and groaned, his pale blue eyes rolling backwards as he fought to get away, but it was no use. They were one and Femto licked at his bottom lip. 

_“Griffith…”_ he whispered again, pressing himself down, letting his crimson wings cascade around them, a barrier of protection, just the two of them. Femto pressed himself into the crook of Griffith’s neck, nuzzling and feeling the frail body in his grasp pulsing. 

_Guts. Guts. Guts._

It was always Guts that roused his thorn, this blossom that threatened to bloom and engulf them both. They would both drown and suffocate and cease to be, were that to happen. Were Griffith to have his way, his thorns of regret prickling out would be the end of them both. 

To leave Femto… It would not be within Guts’ arms that Griffith would find himself, but within the nothingness, the true nothingness. 

All the ambition and dreams, withered away, because of _him_. 

Femto caressed and pulled his claws through tangled silver strands, poising himself between Griffith’s withered thighs. His other self quivered and shook, and said nothing, of course. 

_“Griffith…”_ Femto whispered to himself. It was necessary to keep this part of himself in check, to keep it from blooming and growing out of control. He had to cut back the unruly limbs and shape this blossom into something beautiful and useful. 

His claws pressed into his other self easily, so easily. Griffith’s hole quivered, he shook, but he arched back as he accepted the claws and Femto smiled, perhaps even fondly as those blue eyes fluttered shut. So unruly this weak and imperfect form would become, upon crossing paths with _him_. 

Griffith’s heart beat quicker and Femto pushed in a second claw, and then a third. Guts… Guts was always the piece. The anchor of Griffith’s heart, and yet, his entire undoing. A delicate balance that must be kept. 

If Griffith grew too strong and willful once more… 

Femto withdrew his fingers and stroked his ribbed cock, aching and pulsing. The flesh pulled back from the tip, hard and pointed, much more than a human’s was. It bulged and narrowed, and it would lock inside of Griffith so _nicely_. 

But, Griffith was not with him. No, those pretty blue eyes were glazed over, lost in a memory. Which one, however? Where was Griffith’s mind, wandering off to… 

Femto grasped his leaking cock at the root in one hand, dragging his claws lightly over Griffith’s face with the other. Ah… 

_“G-Guts! Oh, Guts!” Rough bark dug into his bare palms, bent over, pushed against a tree. They were exposed, far too exposed and Guts was there, behind, pushing, pulling. So rough, so impatient._

_Griffith was gasping out, panting hard, barely able to breathe in the cold night air._

_And he was pushing back, taking all that Guts could give him until they were collapsed in the snow, hot and overly sensitive. Griffith was grinning as he was wiped of all his strength._

What irony, Griffith should be thinking of snowy nights, when all the blooms were dormant and waiting for the warmth of spring. 

Femto had to be that warmth, he had to be the sun that Griffith turned toward, not him. Guts was gone, he was but a memory. The Guts that Griffith craved was no more. 

He drew a claw down Griffith’s thin chest, drawing his attention back. 

_“Griffith…”_ he said again, commanding his attention. Femto would be Griffith’s ambition once more, the sun he turned his face towards. Guts was cold and devoid of life. A taunting moon that no matter how full, would never provide the warmth and light that Femto could. 

Femto nudged his cock against Griffith’s tight hole, waiting only until those blue eyes were upon him before he forced his way in. Griffith’s chest heaved, he arched, his arms limp and useless, his legs pushed up so easily, fully exposed to Femto. 

Crimson wings fluttered over them, blocking out the cold that was Guts. Femto would be the warmth to cause Griffith to bloom. 

Femto _had_ to be Griffith’s warmth. 

The head of his cock pushed in easily, Griffith seizing and growing tight as the next ridge thrust in. 

“G-Guts!” Griffith gasped out and Femto hesitated no more, fully seating himself inside of Griffith with a brutal snap of his hips. 

_In every way, Griffith dominated Guts’ life. He held Guts’ life in his hands. Griffith had told Guts he would choose the place he died._

_Griffith was control and Guts was brute strength._

_And Griffith surrendered his control to Guts, late in the night, where they would kiss and touch._

_Strong fingers coaxed their way through Griffith’s long hair, awkward and nervous. Griffith was sure of himself, sitting in Guts’ lap, cradled in scared thighs._

_Things were simple, then. Just the two of them hidden away in a tent, all flushed cheeks and chaste kisses._

Femto withdrew himself to the tip, each ridge popping and pulling on Griffith’s tired flesh. Blue eyes opened and fluttered shut. It was only Femto there in the moment of thi coupling, skittering his claws up sickly thighs, alone as Griffith retreated. 

_“You idiot!” No one dared to verbally abuse Griffith, not his own men, save **one**. The same one with short, black hair and more strength than sense. _

_Griffith let himself be grabbed by the shoulders, pushed against a wall. They were inside a keep, a crumbling old castle tower. The walls shook and debris fell over them. Guts was shaking and Griffith…_

_“You call me reckless?! What was that out there?! Throwing yourself in-in…” Guts broke off, shoulders sagging as he pulled Griffith into his embrace. Guts was trembling._

_Griffith smiled._

_Armour clattered and Griffith’s cape was all the barrier he had from the filthy, decrepit floor. Guts cape fell around them, like a wall of crimson as they rutted on the floor._

_Guts wore no red, not in those days. He was earthy and…_

Femto arched and pulled Griffith closer to himself, the blood red of his wings fluttering. It was fascinating, the way Griffith clung to such a dark, terrible light, the way he craved and cried out for Guts when… 

When it was Griffith’s own word that doomed Guts. It was not Femto, nor any other Godhand. It was only Griffith, wholly himself, that whispered for _sacrifice_. And yet now, he seemed to harbor a grain of regret at such a choice. A grain that threatened to grow into a wild field, if not properly tended to… 

A gasp and a groan and Femto could feel Griffith twitching around his cock, he could feel Griffith’s attachment for Guts slipping, but it was not yet enough. 

Tortured and abused, Griffith still held out for Guts… 

_There were no words. There would never be any words, not again. Guts looked at him with pity and Griffith tried to remain proud, but he was dying and he knew it._

_He was weak, for the first time in his life. No…_

_No._

_Not the first time._

_The night Guts bested him, turned away and said he was sorry…_

_That was the night Griffith felt weak and powerless. Guts took his life back and a seed of doubt and shame and regret embedded itself in Griffith’s heart._

_Guts turned away that cold, snowy night and Griffith threw away the Hawks, just to spite himself._

_Strong arms, much stronger and bigger than Griffith could remember, scars that were unfamiliar, wrapped around him and he allowed it as they sat in the wagon. He was pitied and Griffith allowed it. Guts whispered to him a life of warmth and love and Griffith wept._

_The last petals of Griffith’s ambition were fading, wilting, dropping away…_

_When Griffith pressed Guts for intimacy, even though he was broken and withered and grotesque, Guts obliged, taking his cock in his mouth, and never unlacing his breeches, never touching himself._

_Griffith was pitied and he felt disgusted. He was determined to never feel that way again._

A heaving, wet gasp as Griffith surfaced, his arms weak, reaching out for something, a lingering plea for that damned swordsman of immense strength and exquisite brutality. 

_“You are me, and you are **mine** ,”_ Femto whispered as he bent down snapping his hips hard and fast, just as Griffith always liked. He moaned, he gasped, his lips raw and cracked, no tongue to articulate anything, but Femto knew what he wanted. 

He reached down between them, grabbing Griffith’s cock with a clawed hand, jerking and pulling at his limp flesh until he was at half-hardness. 

_Guts. Guts. Guts._

Griffith was awash with pleasure and pain and Femto knew that he was gone, lost in another memory. Femto didn’t care as he buried himself deep, releasing his seed as his cock swelled and locked in. They were as if one, where they would think and feel each other. Femto was inundated with thoughts of Guts. It was torment, but he was able to instill ambition back into Griffith. 

Harmony was struck, a delicate balance, and it was all that kept them as one being, their soul aligned. It was all that kept them both from ceasing to exist. Their coupling would always be required, even if Griffith did not crave Guts’ attention, Femto would come to him like this. To take him, to push into him rough and hard and possess him. They were one, and they needed to remain as such. 

But, perhaps… There was a way to satisfy them both. A way to calm Griffith’s desire for his old self, his old body… A way to return to the mortal realm and feel the sun upon his face once more. 

An egg, a new world… A _perfect_ world. 

Femto just had to be patient and keep Griffith pruned.


End file.
